Gunslinger
by Empty Promise
Summary: Witches have been around since the begining of history, right? So i'm sure a few stories other then the Second Neuroi War involve witches, right? Here's one such tale, for your enjoyment.


_**Oh...if you bury me deep and bury me sound...**_

 _ **I died living my life as a gunslinging gal**_

 _ **a fatal match with a 45. ending my life**_

 _ **I ask for just one thing in the afterlife...**_

 _ **As i lie dead in the earth on lonesome boot hill...**_

 _ **Bury my gun belt with me still**_

 _ **Both pistols in their holsters**_

 _ **Still a Gunslinger...even in death...**_

 **1878, Utah** **Territory** **, Liberion**

The Town of Eastwood wasn't much, one street, main, and a dozen or so buildings was all she had, and minus a few miners and such types other wild types of people, rarely did new comers arrive for more then a stop over on the way to California . The only area of the town that was even slightly popular was Old Leone's Saloon, a place to put your head down, get a drink and let your troubles on the trail drift away.

The night was a dark one, only a single sliver of moon in the deep blue night sky, the town was silent,and the low footfalls of spurred boots didn't break it.

A figure tipped their hat at a man leaning against the wall at the entrance as they entered through the saloon door, face covered in the shade of they're hat and a bandana. The building was crowded, not a surprise, always a few naredowells and miners looking for a drink or two, a haze of dark colored tobacco smoke pooled at the ceiling, like storm clouds before a storm brewing trouble, in the back, a piano played off a happy tune.

Walking across the barroom floor, the stranger's boot steps echoed through the place, raising eyes up from drinks and games of cards all around. Pulling a chair, the stranger sat down at the barhead, raised a hand, and ordered a drink.

"What'll it be"? the barman asked in a cheerful tone, his night black hair combed over his forehead that was bathing in a covering of sweat.

"Whisky"

"Coming up in a giffy" he smiled fetching a bottle of the golden liquid and a shot glass. Placing both down, the newcomer shock they're head at the glass.

"Just leave the bottle" sailed from they're lips gruffly as a dozen coins jingled across the bar into the owners waiting hands. Turning to leave, the stranger tapped him on the shoulder. He turned meeting a gaze of fire from beneath the stranger's hat.

"Oh, one more thing, you see, i'm looking for somebody, names Graves, ring any bells"?

The Bar feel silent, even the piano player stopping to look at the pair. A chill ran down the man's spine as he leaned closer to the newcomer "You shouldn't be asking that question around these parts now, mighty dangerous if i do say so" he said, his eyes widening as a man crept behind the stranger, a bottle in his hands raised above his head.

In a flash, the stranger turned, the cloak they wore flying off, and the bottleman's head whipped back, a fist close behind knocking the head backwards onto the floor along with the rest of it's body . The Bandana flew off, revealing a female face, locks of light red hair and a grin that would have scared a train off it's tracks. A second man ran at her, a knife between his fingers and stabbed it at her, she dodged the blow with little effort, grabbing his arm and flipping him into a table, cracking it in two.

"Hehe, bye bye whore" he heard a man laugh, behind her, a thug cocked a Derringer with a sick grin, in a blur of motion, the man went flying backwards, blood flew by, and poised, the woman held a sawed off pistol gripped break action scatter gun in each hand, smoke rising from the barrels.

Her eyes looking about at the other bar patron, she smiled "Anyone else looking for eight kinds of trouble"?

No one spoke up. Standing up from her pose she looked at the barman again, half hidden behind the counter.

"The names-"

"Felicity Felix...the "Red Ghost" he finished for her, a dreadful tone taking over as her nickname left his lips. Anybody on either side of the law knew about the Red Phantom, a former Liberion Marshal, left for dead by a gang of killers in the desert, she lived, tracked each one down, and killed them, worked as hired law for Washington when asked, sometimes for her own game.

Or so the word of mouth said.

But one thing everyone agreed on was this: Don't cross her if you value your life.

She kicked a boot up onto the counter, a bit of blood pooled across the toe "Where's Graves"? she asked glaring at him, the man shook with fear and cried out "Other...side of town...maim, two story boarding house, can't miss...miss it"

She smiled again, the way a winner might after a hard race "Good" she said walking out the door. "And, sorry about the mess" she added throwing a few more coins his way before leaving...

...

"That...bitch is here" Robert Graves cursed, loading a Colt Navy Revolver, engraved with a skull on the base of the grip. The balding warlord clenched his free hand into a fist as he finished, he'd given her the slip three weeks before in Santa Fa, or so he had thought, even recruited a few new boys into the gang, and now it was going to all come undone, like a ball of string before a bored tomcat

Across the room, one of the "new" boys, watched out the window, his rifle at the ready, but his eyes on Graves. The man caught his gaze, and yelled "What in the hell are you gawking at"?

"...I've never seen ya so scared boss, is all..." he said coyly.

"Scared"? he laughed "Robert Graves fear no man on God's Green Earth, but that...vile witch...she sure as hell ain't human, she can see bullets before they're fired, and track a man fifty miles with no lead, she's a damned demon, and as far as i'm concerned, she's not from our world".

He threw on his gunbelt, putting his sidearm in it and looked at his hired man again "You keep your eyes OUTSIDE if you want to be alive long enough to spend any of your pay, got that"?

"Yes Mr Grave...Graves" he stuttered out going back on watch. He sighed to himself, since the War between the states, the people he was forced to work with were getting stupider by the day. He remembered a time when he could count on the men under, when they'd flown under a flag other then the stars and stripes a decade earlier.

...

 **1863, P** **ennsylvania**

"God Damn it, quite screwing around" Colonel Graves yelled the grey clad soldiers as they routed through a barn. A woman holding the hand of a young girl watched on from the steps of a house nearby. Looting wasn't something he was proud of, but they needed the food badly, and what little they had was gone. So he watched them raid the barn, taking crops and seed, anything edibal for themselves.

"Hehe, sure as hell that they got food Colonel, just wanted to hog it for them fat Yankee mouths oh theirs" one private laughed, tossing a bundle of corn into his pack with a toothy grin. He turned his head, his eyes meeting the woman watching, her gaze full of contempt. It made him uneasy.

He wasn't the only one who noticed her, one of the troopers, walking towards her, tried to place a hand upon her chest, she slapped him across the faces, making him laugh "Tough girl, i like that" he sneered, the woman pushed her daughter back into the house as he shifted his face inches from her own. He punched her, sending the frail woman to the ground, laughing, he began to bend over her, only to crumple over as she sent a well placed kick into his groin.

His fellow troops laughed at him...until a man emerged from the house with a rifle leveled at them. Graves pulled his revolver from his side and pointed it at the armed man "Drop the rifle" he said sternly.

"Hell no, this sonofabitch assaulted my wife, that's a crime, and he'll pay for it" he replied, flashing a badge in his open hand. it read _Federal Marshal_

"Yankee Law doesn't governor us" he said back coldly, turning his head to watch the disgrace to uniform picking himself up"He'll be tried, by a southern court"

"Hell, that means he'll be getting off scot free" he cocked his rifle with that, his weapon held steady.

"He ain't staying here" Graves hissed, his finger putting enough pressure on the Colt's trigger to send a round flying free, straight into the man's chest, he fell back, dead as anyone else who'd been shot, his rifle gripped tightly, stayed with him.

"Some men..." he sighed placing the pistol back at his side "...Don't have the nerve needed for a real duel, take your food and lets go"

He watched the man's wife run out to his side, crying and cursing at him, for a moment, her hand reached for the fallen rifle, but she stopped herself, realizing, he thought, that she'd share her husbands fate if she tried that. In the doorway. a little girl, the same one from before, watched her Father's lifeless body in her mother's arm.

He turned away, telling his men to move out, take what they had and leave, riding off, he could still hear her tears...

...,

Edward Sallow wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead with his gun hand, the desert heat, even at night, a pain that he'd say would even give his home state of California in the summer, but so far, this gang had been keeping the money coming his way, and his stomach full, that's what he thought, was good enough.

The Boarding House the Gang had occupied stood at the end of "Main" street (This damn town only had one street) and was the tallest building in town, but down the street, Edward could see a lone standing, figure standing, they're poncho blowing a bit in the wind behind them.

"Aww hell, another dumbsonofabtich who doesn't know his place" he sighed aloud. He began walking toward the person, raising a hand for them to leave.

The Night air was cracked by a gunshot, and Sallow fell, a solid slug in his stomach. He watched a pair of dusty boots walk past him as he withered in pain, a soft chuckle escaping the gunman's lips as he passed...

...

"God damn it to hell, she's already here then? Graves shouted hearing the gunshot. He turned around in his room, taking the bottle of whisky from his dresser and downing a swing he opened his door and took a deep breath, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Guess we'd better play host then aye? BOYS, I'LL GIVE A 100 BUCKS TO THE FIRST MAN TO BRING ME HER SCALP"! he screamed. Loading his pistols with fresh bullets, finishing, he looked them over before deciding he would need something bigger to take down that bitch...

...

Felix thumbed the hammer's of her scatter guns, ready to blow anyone in her way to kingdom come. She advanced towards the boarding house's door. Easing her body alongside it, she kicked the door wide open and hunkered onto the wall as a hail of gunfire followed moments latter.

"Did we get her" she heard a rather loud voice yelled, she swung one of her guns around the corner, sending two barrels of fury at her attackers, the cry of pain that followed made her smirk.

You sonsabitches ready to die tonight"? she laughed aloud. The placement of their following shots told her she'd spooked them good. She took a deep breath "Don't fail me now old girl" she sighed closing her eyes and reciting a chant in her head before he turned the corner.

She could see two men armed with six shooters aimed at her behind some overturned tables. They fired, the revolver's hammers slapping like a horse's hooves in quick beat. But a mere half foot in front of her, a ring of pure blue floated, the bullets crumpled against it harmlessly and fell to the floor like dropped coins.

Being a witch, even an aged one, had it's perks.

"What in the hell"? one of the men cried before he ate a face full of shotgun pellets. Pieces of bloody cum and chunks of bones of bone painted the wall behind him like a master artist at work. He fell over the front of the bar, his gun hanging limply in his dead grasp. The other gunman cried out "Jesus" and began to toss his gun away, but he was a half second too late, as she shoved her firearm into his gut and pulled the triggers.

She watched the color drain from his face, he fell backwards,a hole in his stomach against the back wall, his head hung low into his chest.

She shook her head loading fresh shells into her weapons, didn't feel right killing a man in cold blood, but he made his choice too late.

"If ya looking for sympathies" she said gazing at his corpse "Tell em to god". She slowly made her way up the stairs at the back of the room, the darkness above keeping her sight down...

...

"What in the hell is wrong with you idiots"?" he yelled loudly as the sounds of gunfire grew closer, telling him his side was losing. "It's one woman vs ten men, and your getting your asses kicked" he sighed, next time he would hire right, not stupid law breakers he met on the trail loading a shell into a pump action shotgun laid across his lap, "I'll handle this myself then damn it"! kicking open the door to his room, he aimed the weapon into the hallway that his room ended.

Nothing. An empty hall.

"Damn right" he muttered under breath as he took a deep step forward, the floorboards creaking under his booted foot. He advanced, weapon held high,ready to fire in a moment. The gunfire had stopped now, the last of his men dead, a lone survivor again, just like Yellow Tavern, so many good horse soldiers killed in a battle they couldn't win.

He wouldn't let them die in vain.

"I'LL KILL YOU FELIX"! he shouted, firing into a nearby door as it creaked, shattering the front with a spray of metal pellets. Light shown through it as he slowly looked down the hall, the weapon held at his hip, creating beams of light that broke through the darkness engulfing the hallway. He walked forwards, eye's slowly scanning from left to right, for anything.

He didn't have to wait long.

A sharp movement caught his eye and he fired, pumping two shells forwards as a dark shape rolled past the doorway at the hall's end. The muzzle flash let him catch a glimpse of the witch, but both his scattered shots failed to strike her. He ran forward

 _"I have you now!"_ he thought running after his quarry, the adrenaline pumping into his vain as he gave chase. He turned the corner, moonlight of an open window shown through, casting a ray of bright light through the hall. He saw no one.

"Damn it, your not getting the jump on me"! he cursed leaning out the window, his shotgun aimed at the street bellow. He scanned for the woman, finger posed on the trigger of his weapon.

"I think your wrong there old man" he heard, turning he watched he swing down from the rafters, both boots slamming into his back, sending him out the window, the the dusty streets bellow. He landed with a _thud_ pain shooting up from his back into his arms and legs. He turned about, looking for his fallen weapon in the dirt, but to no avail. The open street around him was barren, beside a covered wagon and some crates stacked nearby.

"Now it's time we end this" he heard her shout, jumping down from the window, landing swiftly, her poncho forming a cap around her shoulders as she stood up in the shallow moon light. He sent his hand looking for his pistol at his side, but found it too was missing, the fall had made sure of that. She smiled watching him look for his gun, then cleared her throat. He looked up, she pointed at her boots.

Under the left, his Colt 1861 sat, caked in red dirt underfoot. She smiled wider.

"I'll give you a fair chance then, something you never gave my father you bastard" she said, eyes laced with fire. He froze for a moment as she picked up his gun, and tossed it to him, unloaded. He remembered the little girl, watching her mother weep at her dead paws side.

"So that was you then...that little girl in "63""? he asked. She gazed at him deeply "Yes, and now i ain't some little girl no more, i'ma woman who's gonna kick you ass, something you've had coming for a long time".

He wiped the dirt of his weapon, before loading each.38 in, slowly with care, into it's place in the cylinder. Finishing he clasped it shut, with a small _snap_.

"So old man, you ready to die"? she asked, her tone that of a serious question. He nodded "Yes, but i don't intend to die today...this a gun duel or a gunfight"?

She let off a small smirk as he asked that.  
"Whatda you think"?

"Gun Duel has rules...a gun fight doesn't"

"Well, this is west, no rules is the name of the game..." she nodded. He nodded back, both of them ready and posed.

"On three...one...two..."

In a flash both had rolled away from each other, Felix firing off a blast from her shotgun mid roll, Graves firing two shots from behind the cover of wagon he's rolled behind. Overhead, buckshot shattered the wood and cloth canvas of the wagon above his head. Cursing under breath, he raised his pistol over head, and blind fired a round in responds.

He hunched into a crouch walk, and began moving, trying to flank her, he wasn't about to become a sitting duck. Pressing his face to the edge of the wagon, he peered quickly for any sign of the gunfighter. He found none. Quickly, he rolled sideways, making for a pile of sandbags lying on a porch only a few feet away, he made a quick dash...only for a scattering of shotgun pellets to send him reeling backwards back behind the wagon.

"Won't kill me that easy"! he screamed into the summer's night air. Inside another thought came to mind _"Where the hell did that shot come from"?_ He'd fired three bullets, only three remaining in his Colt, and he'd have to make them ALL count in some way. He removed his hat from the top of his head, and holding it by the brim, raised it up into the air.

It was blown to pieces in moments. Buck shot shattering the fabric quick as a snake on a shrew. He stopped for a moment, deciding that cat and mouse wouldn't work out, he needed to gain an advantage over her somehow...

Removing his hat, he gave it a throw with power behind it that he didn't think he had, two hail storms of buckshot followed it like wild dogs on a dying buck's heels. He counted in his head _"Thats' four shots now, she's out off ammo"_

He stood up, his pistol leveled at high "Looks like your out of ammo Felix, why don't you come out and let us talk this over huh"?

No one appeared. He cocked an eyebrow at this "Aw, come on now, scared because i'll shoot? If i wanted you dead, i would be hunting you right now, might as well take my terms here and now"

He walked out into the middle of the street, sighing in the moonlight "God damn, never thought you a coward, but at least you could die with grace"

From behind, he heard a soft _Chunk_ followed by another, and turned to see the woman in question, loading her scatter guns, before he could fire, he felt something like a billiard ball slam into his chest and stomach, knocking him to the dusty earth with a _thud_. She walked over, a short grin written on her face, like a cat with a ball of yarn before it.

"You...you cheated..." he coughed, she smiled wider "You killed my father, i don't think you deserve a fair fight" she almost laughed, he felt his chest grow warmer, something like sticky water spreading. He got on a knee and peered into his eyes, "Do me a favor will you"? she asked with a smile, loading two fresh shells into her guns "When you get to hell, ask the devil if the place is overflowing with scum like you"?

He could feel the world growing darker now, his hearing growing fainter.

"And if he says, yes, tell em this, i don't intend to stop anytime soon". With one swift, motion, she shoved to weapon against his cheek, and fired both barrels, something like wet chum flew outwards, making a scarlet wave of gore...

...

Standing, her face was a mask of neutral expression. She for years had thought she'd feel something when this day had come, happy, justice, but instead she just felt...empty.

"Well, might as well see if the next one's going make me feel any different" she said aloud, taking a list of names from her jacket, many names marked off with an X, she crossed off another as she walked away. One thought still echoing in her mind as she walked off, into the rising sun.

"Maybe _the Next one..."_

 _..._

Peter Von Luck Hartmann sighed placing his hands free of the type writer's keys. From his days as a young lad, the West of Liberion's past had always captivated him, gunslingers and outlaws dueling, fairs women to be saved, and the good "guy" always walking away at the end. But war had shown him this was not realistic, thus, taking cues from an old Leatherneck friend of his, Felicity Felix was born, a gunslinger with a troubled past and a grim dispostion. A realistic take on the westerns of his boyhood.

But he never thought writing a story would be so back breaking.

Sticking her head in the door, Ursula Hartmann smiled at him, her stomach was already showing signs of the family's newest member.

"Done"? she asked. He turned in his chair, a smile lighting his face "yes dear, i'll send it _Tombstone_ in the morning" he added, mentioning the Western Magazine still popular in Karlsland, with people like himself. Standing he streched his arms "I'll start dinner then, are you in the mood for anything specific?"

She smiled "Anything is fine"

He shrugged back "As you wish, mein love" before leaving, making dinner now at the top of his mind...

* * *

 **God, i love westerns, and if any loyal fan (i have those?) remembers, Peter did bring Ursula to see a Western on their first date. This has been on my computer since April, so i wanted to get it done with, and the Trailer for the new "Red Dead Redemption" reminded me i should, god, the game looks good. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little treat anyway :)**

 **Latter.**


End file.
